


Nightmares and Revelations

by Luthienberen



Series: Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2018 [6]
Category: Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Slash, Injuries (non-graphic references), M/M, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, Slash, War flashbacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-06 19:29:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15201821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/pseuds/Luthienberen
Summary: The heat-wave conjures memories Watson had long considered buried.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for July writing prompts. Prompt No.7 And Now The Weather. Involve the climate in some way. Set after The Naval Treaty Episode.

Oppressive heat weighed down upon me, baking my exposed skin and where I was covered by my uniform to suffocate steadily.

My lips cracked and bled, my sweat stinging as drops slid down my face and onto my broken lips. Swiping my tongue over the aching wounds did nothing, but scrape a dry muscle over already torn delicate skin.

The noise of my regiment filtered into my consciousness and I blinked exhausted eyes to see men I knew surrounding me. Confusion washed over me as I realised where I was.

_Maiwand_.

I had to be dreaming for about me a huge battle was raging, guns firing, smoke filling the air from the numerous bullets fired and canon fire. The overwhelming stench of gunpowder, sweat and blood rolled over me.

Blood…oh damnations. Terror swept through me as the ghost of the Battle of Maiwand rose about me and marched onwards. Spectres I had long forgotten or had at least buried in the corners of my mind yelled in the heat of battle, screamed as their flesh was torn open or merely stayed silent, pained weary faces locked in a fearful fight for _life_.

Our enemy fought fiercely, determined to repel us.

I saw before my eyes the ghostly apparition of myself as I tried saving men as they fell, while staving off attacks.

I realised my hands were wet.

Raising them my belly heaved as I saw them covered in blood. The pungent stench of guts, of wounds somehow festering turned even my doctor strengthen stomach and heart.

How many I couldn’t save!

How many I could only save for the saw.

How few I could save only in body alone, but their ravaged souls…

Weeping with no tears, for all my moisture was gone, by the unrelenting rays of the scorching sun and dry air, I wished only to awaken.

Yet I could not and felt the hopelessness afresh. At least when I was not an apparition reliving this dreadful battle, I could ply my trade.

Then amid my grief came the agony of the Jezail bullet as it tore through my shoulder. Both my ghost and I fell to the ground and were senseless.

_“Watson! Watson!”_

I awoke with a start to discover Holmes shaking me. His face was pale, dark hair falling into his eyes. His eyes…In the light of the leaping candles my friend had lit, his grey-green eyes were afraid.

His lips were taut over a wide mouth, open and ready to call my name again when he saw I had awoken from my hell.

_“Watson,”_ he breathed, voice so thick with emotion I was shaken anew.

My dear friend was not one to great displays of affection yet now it was clear how worried he had been – and still was – over me.

Deeply moved I tried lifting my hands to grasp an arm, but they trembled badly. Holmes did not care and removing his hands from my shoulders seized both of my hands in his.

Our clasped hands shook and I could not tell if Holmes was also trembling or if it was I alone. That is, until he spoke again.

“Was it the war Watson?” he asked as he tightened his hold.

The pressure and display of his feelings for me allowed me to speak openly.

“Yes, I…I was there Holmes, watching my regiment and myself act out that terrible battle. I could do nothing and then the bullet…” I paused, overwhelmed again.

“Oh my dear Watson,” breathed Holmes. His eyes searched mine and there was an implacable edge to his tone when he spoke next.

“You are not there anymore dear fellow. You did what you could on that accursed day. You are here in Baker Street – and I for one, am grateful for the Jezail bullet for brining you to me.”

He flushed at the end of his speech and I was stunned by his declaration. Trembling now not in fear or phantom pain I nodded and took the chance in dropping my head onto his shoulder, for he was leaning over me.

I smelled tobacco and soap from when he washed before bed. I was aware of our nightshirts and our closeness. It was improper but I cared not, revelling simply in the friendship and emotions that Holmes held for me and how vulnerable the logical detective and scientist must feel at showing so.

“Why now?” whispered Holmes.

“The heat, it has been so hot my mind must have conjured up Maiwand and that frightful day.”

Holmes’ shoulder moved as he nodded in understanding.

“Seeing your old school-friend Percy Phelps probably did not help,” he said.

Yes, that did make sense. Typical of Holmes to deduce another probable cause.

“Well,” he murmured, squeezing my hands again. “We must away from here. I am certain Lestrade can scrounge up a case in Brighton. Some sea air will righten you Watson. Isn’t that what you medical doctors insist upon?”

I laughed lowly and agreed.

Homes hummed in satisfaction and after another moment lay down beside me and ordered me to sleep. I nearly laughed again, but did as bid. My soul rejoiced when Holmes kept close.

Slowly I fell asleep to the knowledge that my dear friend was guarding my slumbers and cared for me so much that he would overcome his normal reservations to public displays to soothe my troubled spirit.

Of course, my room was hardly public but it still counted.

My final thought before sleep claimed me was how Inspector Lestrade would react when he realised Holmes’ true motives for asking about a case in Brighton. He wasn’t that unobservant no matter what Holmes said sometimes.

“I am here Watson,” whispered Holmes, sensing my gradual slip into the realm of Morpheus.

“I know Holmes, thank you,” I murmured and slept peacefully despite the heat.


	2. Brighton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holmes and Watson arrive in Brighton and the area immediately has an effect on the weary doctor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for July writing prompts. Prompt No. 24 Tales of the City. Let the history or geography of a place play a significant role in today’s work. Bonus point if the place is not Holmes and Watson’s home city.

Brighton was lovely.

The heat which had conjured up Maiwand in my nightmares, now was juxtaposed against the cool breeze off the sea and the crowds of tourists enjoying the weekend.

We were strolling about along the seafront, waiting for our room to be free, soaking up the fervour of the holiday-makers. I was clutching Holmes’ arm and good fellow that he was, he permitted me. For while we walked arm-in-arm frequently, I rarely had held his so tightly.

Today however I needed it after another restless night and the pain in my shoulder.

Holmes, my dear friend, cast frequent glances at me. His grey-green eyes were shaded with worry, but showing a tenderness I had rarely seen.

It caused a flutter in my belly that made me terribly self-conscious.

“Let us go down to the beach Watson,” suggested Holmes softly.

_What an excellent offer._

“Yes, shall we go near the water?”

“Why not?” responded Holmes.

So, with that we made our way down the stone steps onto the shingle beach. The chink of pebbles against each other as our shoes stepped onto the beach made me freeze.

_The chink of stones knocked together by unwary enemy soldiers. The sentinel alerted just in time to bring up his weapon and wound one intruding solider, before falling senseless under a gunshot._

_Feeling myself scrambling to my feet from the fire and joining the ruckus to pull the injured sentinel free. Hands digging, red, into a gaping wound, yet the man lived._

“Watson.”

It was uttered softly with a firm squeeze of my arm. I returned to the present with a shudder and Holmes’ watchful expression.

Alas, poor Holmes is greatly unnerved by my ghostly visits to the past, the haunting memories conjured by weather and location, yet before I could say anything Holmes was pulling me to a temporary bench and sitting us down.

“Now, let us take in the salt air Watson, you doctors are always extolling its virtues at great length so I feel we should partake in this miraculous remedy.”

Sitting as close as propriety allowed, Holmes swept an imperious arm towards the shining blue sea.

“Observe the placid sea! Maybe we can absorb the serenity of the sea while it is at its rest.”

Well, I had to smile. How typical of Holmes to be dismissive of my profession whilst simultaneously using it to help alleviate my condition. It was, I realised, the only way Holmes could publicly show his affection…

So, all I could do in return to show my equal gratitude and affection was to do my best to relax and follow Holmes’ methods and absorb the sea air and summon the serenity of that vast expanse of water, mistress only to its self.


End file.
